


Too Young To Surrender

by zmalikd



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: First Time, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zmalikd/pseuds/zmalikd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>See, Harry wants to kiss Niall and Niall wants to kiss Harry, but they're best friends. So, of course, things get a little complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Young To Surrender

**Author's Note:**

  * For [falseidolls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/falseidolls/gifts).



> this is a spin off to the fic Your Hand In Mine (which can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/563132/chapters/1006427)). Although, you don't have to read it to understand or enjoy this installment ^^

They’re in Harry’s basement, seated on an old grungy sofa that’s tucked in the far corner. It’s one of those cloth covered ones, with cushions that sink down to the floor. It’s decent enough for a basement, and there’s a good sized television down there with them, which is currently flashing the word  _paused_  across the screen. Harry looks down at the controller in his hand and can’t recall pushing the start button. He’s not too sure of how the game got paused, but then he’s looking at Niall who’s staring back at him, his brow furrowed and his face blank.

“What?” Harry asks, scooting away.

“What did you say?”

Confused, Harry looks back at his controller, then to Niall’s. “What are you talking about?”

“ _Experimenting_?”

Harry freezes. He didn’t say anything about experimenting. Did he? Thinking back, he tries to decipher in his mind when his mouth had decided to spew out his thoughts without his knowledge and uh…yeah, okay. So maybe he  _had_ mentioned experimenting somewhere in between blowing Niall up in their game and trying to find a machine gun that didn’t take fifty years to reload.

“I,” he begins, voice cracked, “didn’t mean to say that.”

“You want to experiment? What do you mean by that?”

“You know what? Let’s just pretend I didn’t say anything seeing how…I didn’t want to say that out loud.”

“But, you were thinking it, yeah?”

“Well, yeah.”

“What does it mean, though?”

“We should just drop this. It’s not an important thing to talk about.” Harry tries to wave Niall off, even tries to laugh, but it only makes everything more awkward. “Let’s just play the game, huh? I was pulling ahead and honestly, I think you’re just trying to uh, distract me so you can win. That’s it, right? Tell me that’s it.”

To Harry’s complete and utter dissatisfaction, Niall shakes his head.

“Do you mean kissing?”

“Oh, c’mon, Niall!” Harry drops his controller, hands flailing everywhere. “Just, please. Let’s forget about it.”

Niall scoots closer, his eyes drilling holes into Harry’s face. His own controller is forgotten on the small coffee table sitting between them and the television, and his hands look like they’re shaking when he stuffs them in his lap, his fingers clasped together.

“Do you wanna kiss me?” he asks, so softly. He sounds innocent enough, the blue in his eyes burning brightly, and Harry wonders if maybe that’s why his lips wrap around words that his mind doesn’t mean for his voice to say, but before he can stop himself, he’s whispering,

“Yeah.”

Niall’s cheeks tint red. He scoots even closer and Harry has half the mind to swat him away. He’s making Harry’s heart beat wildly in his chest and he looks so terrified, yet enthralled at the same moment, that it’s kind of like he’s some sort of hybrid mutant who can actually handle all his emotions at once.

Harry doesn’t like it.

“Why?”

Harry gawks. “ _Why_?”

“Yeah. Why do you wanna kiss me?”

Then it’s like everything shuts down and Harry’s left alone in a world where his thought process is complete shit, and no matter how hard he tries to keep his mouth closed tightly shut, words flow out anyway.

“You’re my best friend,” he begins, his hands starting to shake much like Niall’s. “Doesn’t everyone want to kiss their best friend at some point in their life?”

When Niall doesn’t say anything in response, Harry’s brain goes into overdrive.

“I’m sure at least 80% of the world’s population wants to kiss their best friend. I’m  _positive_  of that. Why else would they make all those movies based around it? Maybe it’s  _because_  of the media that I want to kiss you, who knows? They just make it seem so inviting. Like, hey look it’s your bestie and they totally love you for who you are. Why not kiss them? Maybe fireworks will go off somewhere in the back, and maybe they’ll want to take your clothes off with their teeth. But whatever happens, it’s totally acceptable and cool because  _they’re_  accepting and cool.”

Chancing a look at the other, Harry forces a smile. He’s all too aware of how close Niall is now. That guy moves all stealth-like and Harry thinks Niall could probably crawl into his lap without him realizing, what with how quiet he is.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Haz?”

“I really don’t know. You wanted to know why I want to kiss you, so I told you.”

“Because the media told you to want it?”

“No.”

Niall quirks an eyebrow. “That’s what I heard.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry huffs out a heavy sigh. “It’s because you have nice lips, and you wear braces. And…you’re my best friend.” He goes to laugh, or cry, or possibly jump into shark infested waters, but then Niall’s pushing his face towards Harry and a hand’s coming out and cupping his jaw, holding his face in place.

“What are you doing?” Harry rushes out, his voice hoarse.

“I thought you wanted to kiss me.”

“Well,  _yeah_ , but you gotta wanna kiss me, too. This can’t be one-sided.”

“I wouldn’t be trying to if I didn’t want to.”

Harry can’t tell if Niall’s joking or not, so they sit motionless; silent. Niall’s hand moves from Harry’s jaw and winds around to the back of his head, where his fingers curl around Harry’s hair. He moves inch by inch, closer and closer, until they’re breathing each other’s air, the tips of their noses brushing.

“If I’m bad at this,” Niall warns, “blame the braces.”

Harry nods, feeling a bit reluctant to think that Niall’s a bad kisser.

“Or the fact that I haven’t been kissed since Jr. High.”

Harry snorts out a laugh, hands coming up quickly to hide his mouth. Luckily, Niall laughs and just like that, the ice is broken and Harry’s pushing forward with his fingers lacing into the front of Niall’s jumper.

He isn’t surprised to find that Niall’s lips are unbearably soft. He can feel the slight poke of the other’s braces, but really, it’s the least important thing to think about when you’re touching mouths with someone. Niall’s trembling, and it’s almost endearing the way that he reaches with his free hand, grabbing onto Harry’s upper arm to somehow steady himself and there’s this tiny noise he’s making that’s faintly similar to a whine.

Harry’s entire body is twisting into a knot. First, his stomach somersaults, then his chest flutters, and lastly, his fingers twitch and take on a life of their own, sliding up the sides of Niall’s neck and into his hair, where Harry can’t help but pull at the little strands peeking out from under Niall’s hat.

And all too soon, Harry’s left without a mouth to kiss.

Niall pulls away, his nose still pressing against Harry’s. His breath is rugged, his voice deep when he asks,

“That okay?”

Harry can only nod. Hell, his eyes aren’t even open yet. He’s still reveling in the actual  _feel_  of Niall’s lips on his own when he hears him whisper, barely audible,

“Wanna do it again?”

“Yeah.”

Then Niall’s pressing against him again. This time it’s fevered; a little rushed. They aren’t small, dainty kisses anymore, but instead broad and open mouthed. They’re intense enough to rattle Harry to the bone and he’s having a hard time keeping his hands in Niall’s hair. He wants to roam over hard shoulders and a firm chest. He wants to feel if Niall’s skin is as heated as his own, and maybe he’s a little curious to know if Niall’s half hard in his pants. Or maybe fully hard. Either way, Harry doesn’t wanna be the only one with a hard on, and it would take some of the pressure off if he could just find out if the other’s sporting a boner, too.

Niall breaks away, again, even more breathless than before.

Harry isn’t sure if he’s being looked at or not, his eyes still refusing to open. When he opens up his mouth with all intentions of asking if Niall liked it, he hears his voice say,

“One more time.”

To which Niall quickly latches back on, his hands now heavy and forceful at the back of Harry’s head, and Harry can’t help but ask how one tiny little experiment could spiral into  _this_.

*

The next few weeks breeze by without much change between them. Although, there are times when Harry wonders if Niall’s hand had always come to a rest at the small of his back when they walked down the school halls together. Then there’s the question of whether or not Harry’s actually getting better at Battlefield, or if Niall’s just letting him win more often than not. Which is saying a lot since the guy’s so fucking competitive.

He supposes it’s all pretty normal, even the little things. That is until he finds himself one night lounged in the back of his car with Niall in the front seat, asking him if he believes in fate.

“What do you mean by fate?” Harry asks. He’s wearing one of Niall’s old sweatshirts, which smells faintly of the other’s cologne.

“You know.  _Fate_.”

“Oh, that clears it right up, thanks.”

Niall scoffs. “Shit just falling into place like it’s supposed to.”

“By what definitions do you mean  _supposed to_?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I can’t! I don’t understand it.”

“Okay. Say you’re walking to school one day and you see a fifty dollar bill on the ground.”

“Alright.”

“Say you go to pick up said fifty dollar bill and just then,  _wham!_ ” He claps his hands together, making Harry jump. “A mack truck runs a red light, and had you not stopped to grab this fifty, you would have been right in the way of that truck.”

“That sounds more like a near death experience.”

“Sure. But, is it fate that you saw the money and didn’t cross the street? Or how about when you enroll in one of those online dating sites and you end up meeting the person you find yourself married to ten years later with five kids? That shit can’t be coincidence, right?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Do you believe that things happen for a reason?”

Harry mulls over the question, probably more confused than necessary.

“I think there’s good luck and bad luck.”

“How about soul mates?”

“That’s something else entirely.”

“So, you believe in them?”

“Do you?”

“That doesn’t matter. I wanna know what  _you_  think.”

Picking at the loose threads on his jeans, Harry slouches back, his head resting against the window. He kicks his feet up on the back of the seats and sighs.

“I think there’s someone made for you, yeah.”

“Really?”

He shrugs.

“That’s what I was thinking,” Niall says. “But not just a soul mate that you marry and have a family with. I mean, someone that you can just  _be_  with and who sort of fills in all your blank spots.”

“Someone who completes you.”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “I guess someone who can make you…whole.”

“Why are you asking me this stuff?”

Niall chews on the corner of his mouth, his chin resting against his chest. He shakes his head, stubbornly.

“C’mon, Ni, you can tell me.” Harry sits up, suddenly very curious. He can’t help but grin. “Tell me.”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Yeah.”

Niall lays his cheek against the side of the seat he’s in, his face only inches from Harry’s own. “You,” he touches the tip of Harry’s nose, “fill in my blank spots.”

A chill courses through Harry’s body and makes him spasm. Niall arches an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirks up.

“Did I just freak you out?” he asks, laughing.

Harry wants to tell him  _no_ , but his palms are beginning to sweat and his head is swimming.

“How do you know when you’ve found a soul mate?” he asks, moving closer to Niall. “Do you think people can even tell that shit?”

“I think your heart will know.”

Harry tries not to laugh, “How does  _your_  heart feel?”

“Complete.”

“You feel whole?”

“I always feel whole when you’re with me.”

“So, I’m your soul mate?”

“Maybe. In a sense of the word.”

Harry flops back, his fingers lacing together. He lets out a shaken breath, willing his mind to stop running in circles. He pretends not to notice when Niall starts to climb over the front seats, moving slowly and surely, as if he’s on the prowl. Then he’s hovering over Harry and Harry’s arms open up – pure instinct, he thinks. Niall lies on top of him, his head pressed into Harry’s chest, nuzzling up to him.

“How about you?” Niall asks, voice weak.

“How does my heart feel? I guess complete is a good word for me, too.”

“You guess?”

“Well, I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Try to.”

“When you’re not around,” Harry brings his arms to encircle Niall’s shoulders, holding onto him like he’s some life support, “I get these weird pains in my chest. Like, it actually hurts when you aren’t with me. Maybe it’s just loneliness. But I’m not sure that you can technically be lonely without being, you know, _alone_.”

“Clear that up for me.”

Harry laughs. “I’ll be with Liam, or Louis and Zayn, and if you’re not with me, then it hurts.”

“And when I’m around?”

“I’m happy.”

“So I make you happy.”

“You’ve always made me happy.”

Niall pushes his way up Harry’s body, his head no longer on his chest, but buried into the side of Harry’s neck. Harry can feel Niall smiling against him, then he feels the flutter of faint kisses on his skin. He isn’t sure if this is how it’s supposed to work, or if he even feels the same way Niall does, but he can only assume that his answer was good enough, seeing how a moment later Niall’s mouth is working against Harry’s and their hands are everywhere at once. Niall pulls at Harry’s sweatshirt, and Harry tries to get Niall out of his jacket, but all they end up doing is stretching their clothes out at the seams, and kneeing each other in all the wrong places due to the compact backseat.

“Maybe,” Niall mumbles, his face smashed into Harry’s cheek, one leg on the floorboards, the other between Harry’s thighs, “this was a bad idea.”

Harry laughs, hoping Niall’s talking about being in the backseat in general, and not the actual situation. He says, “Yeah, probably,” in a weak and soft voice.

Niall wraps his arms around Harry’s middle and pulls their chests together in some kind of hug that’s a little too intimate to be a normal thing. Harry thinks, maybe it’s just a  _them_  thing, and he finds himself curled up to Niall’s side, the size of the backseat no longer an important problem, and the drone of some folk song in the background fading off of the radio.

*

“What are we gonna do over the break?” Niall asks one day at lunch.

Harry has a burger halfway to his mouth when he stops and asks, “What break?”

“The uh, winter one. Next week.”

“Oh.”

“Did you forget?”

Harry smiles, feeling a little sheepish. “Kind of. I guess we’ll…just hang out. Right?”

Niall smirks. “We always hang out. Is there anything you wanna do?”

Setting his burger on his tray and wrapping his jacket tightly around his middle, Harry blows in his hands. He doesn't know why Niall always insists on eating outside, even when it's nearly freezing.

“What’s Liam doing?” he asks, poking at his food.

“I think he said something about Queens. That dude practically lives there now.”

“What about Louis and Zayn? What are they doing?”

“Last I checked, nothing,” he shrugs his shoulders and leans back on the bleachers. He’s one step below Harry and when he leans into him, Niall’s chin rests on Harry’s knee, his eyes looking up at him. Harry feels the impulse to run his fingers through Niall’s hair, and wants to tell him to stop looking at him that way. His heart can’t physically handle it.

“Let’s see what they have planned.”

“What if they don’t wanna hang out with us?”

Harry has to scoff at that, because really, who wouldn’t want to hang out with them?

“Do  _you_  not want to hang out with them?”

Niall buries his face into Harry’s leg and laughs. “I guess I kind of don’t.” He’s quick to add, “I mean, I do. Sure. That’s fine, but I wanna know what you wanna do. Just us.”

Looking up towards the sky, Harry eyes the grey clouds that loom overhead. They him winter is definitely there, which can only mean…

“It’s gonna snow soon,” he mumbles. He tears his attention from the sky and looks to Niall, who’s now nodding his agreement. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

Niall’s face breaks out into a smile and he nods again, this time not so enthusiastically.

*

Harry wakes up on the second day of their winter vacation to find the front yard completely covered in snow. He’s out the door, grabbing both a sweatshirt and a jacket, and into his car before his mother can ask where he’s going.

Niall’s still sleeping when Harry uses the spare key under the welcome mat to let himself in, and he doesn’t wake even when Harry opens all the blinds in his room.

“Wake up, ya fucker!” Harry jumps onto Niall’s bed, plasters his face right into the crook of his neck, and can’t help but yell out a laugh when Niall starts to flail and jump around, all but drooling on his sleep shirt.

“What the hell, Haz?”

“It’s  _snowing_.”

“ _So_?”

Harry wiggles his way under Niall’s blankets and pushes himself right into the other’s side. “So, you have to get up and we’re gonna go to the park!”

“What time is it?”

“I actually don’t know. I didn’t check.”

Niall groans, lifts his pillow over his face and rolls onto his stomach. He’s in the process of smothering himself when Harry shoves his hand up the back of Niall’s shirt, pressing his icy cold fingers to Niall’s skin.

Niall sucks air through clenched teeth and he practically  _growls_  at Harry like he’s some kind of prey, then he’s wrapping his arms around Harry’s middle and reeling him in. There’s really no hope after that. Niall has a death grip on him and it’s pretty obvious that he doesn’t plan on letting him go.

With the air squished out of him, Harry gasps out, “You know we always go to the park on the first snow day.”

“We can go in a little bit.”

“I wanna go  _now_.”

Niall shakes his head and presses his face into Harry’s chest. His leg comes up and swings over his hips, and Harry would be lying if he said this didn’t throw him into a stupor. Here he is, covered from head to toe in winter armor, complete with a beanie and a puffy jacket, and Niall’s clinging to him like he’s some sort of pillow. Sure, he probably feels like one, what with all the layers, but he’s not about to lie in bed when there’s perfectly untouched snow outside, dying to be thrown around.

Kicking his legs and shoving at Niall’s chest, Harry finally gets him to crawl out of bed. He’s mumbling curses at him the entire way out of the room, and when Harry hears the bathroom door close, he grabs Niall’s pillow and holds it to his face. His body may or may not flood with warmth as he inhales deeply, but he won’t admit to it. Not yet, anyway.

*

They’ve barely left the car, making their way towards the far left field of the park, when Harry grabs a handful of snow, dumping it down the back of Niall’s shirt. He yelps, hands going out and shoving Harry away.

“You asshole!”

Niall starts doing this kind of dance where he has to pull his sweater off to get the snow out of his shirt. Then he’s trying to shovel it out of the top of his jeans and Harry’s trying so fucking hard not to double over, his sides aching as he laughs.

He sees Niall scoop up a giant clump of snow and it only takes a second for him to turn on his heels, running for the hills. Niall’s chasing after him, kicking up snow as he goes. There’s ice in Harry’s shoes and his socks are getting wet, his throat’s beginning to burn but he can’t let Niall get him.

“Get the hell back here, Styles!”

“Fuck off!”

All of a sudden, a gust of wind blows and catches Harry right as he’s jumping over a snow mound, and before he can even  _think_  about getting his footing, he’s falling face first onto the ground. Niall’s too close to stop in time and tumbles over Harry’s legs, flopping down right beside him. Harry spits the snow out of his mouth, wipes the crystals from his eyebrows, and opens his eyes just in time to see Niall aim a handful of it right at his face.

“No-”

Seconds later, he’s practically making a meal out of the fucking stuff, and no matter how hard he tries to fight Niall off, the bastard is pressing all his body weight onto him, holding Harry down.

“This is so unfair!”

“You started it, ya twit!”

Their small scrape turns into a wrestling match that ends with Niall smashed into a snow pile, his sweatshirt nearly soaked through. Harry straddles Niall’s hips, a feeling of pride eating away at his insides, and he smiles down at the back of Niall’s head, trying not to laugh at the way the other thrashes around.

“Why do you even try?” Harry asks, laughing. “You always lose.”

“I don’t  _always_  lose.”

“Says the boy who’s eating dirt right now.”

Niall groans, a hand coming up and trying to push Harry away. “Get off.”

“No.”

“ _Harry_.”

“First say that I’m the best and you’re a douche.”

“Why the fuck would I say that?”

“Is someone getting testy?”

Niall stops moving. He sighs heavily, making his entire body sink into the ground. Harry watches him, slightly confused. Leaning in, his hands coming to rest on either side of Niall’s body, Harry presses his lips to the other’s ear and says,

“Just tell me I’m awesome.”

Niall deadpans, “You’re awesome.”

“No. You have to say it with  _meaning_  and with  _feeling_. You can’t just -”

Niall shoves his shoulder back, clipping Harry in the chin, and then Harry’s being thrown onto his back, the world going blurry. When his vision comes to, he finds everything upside down. Niall has one leg between Harry’s thighs and both hands entwined with Harry’s own, holding his arms above his head.

He sighs, angrily.

“You should have seen this coming,” Niall says. He’s smirking, his cheeks taking in color. There’s a patch of snow in his hair and it’s driving Harry crazy.

“Let me go,” Harry says, his voice soft. He isn’t sure if it’s because he’s not yelling, or because Niall only wanted to prove that he can, in fact, win a wrestling match, but Niall lets his hands go as soon as the words leave Harry’s mouth.

“You’re all wet,” he mumbles, wiping at the snow stuck to Niall’s face. He’s in the middle of pulling the chunks out of the other’s hair when Niall swoops down, his mouth covering Harry’s. It’s a small kiss, a timid one, and Niall’s lips are trembling from the cold, but that doesn’t stop him from swiping his tongue along Harry’s bottom lip, causing excitement to bloom in Harry’s chest.

Niall pulls back just a fraction, his lips still brushing against the corner of Harry’s mouth, and he whispers,

“This is becoming a problem.”

“What is?”

“Kissing you.”

“Then don’t do it.”

Sitting up, Niall starts to brush his sweater off.

“I want to though,” he shrugs. “That’s the problem. I want to all the time.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s a problem.”

“No?”

Harry pulls himself up on his elbows, a hand coming to cup Niall’s jaw. “Nah. It’s nice. I like it.”

“Uh,” Niall laughs, uneasily. He starts to fidget, his hands clasping together, then unclasping. “What do you – er, why…” he slumps forward, his chin to his chest. “What do you call this?”

“ _This_?”

Niall nods. He looks up through his lashes, his eyes taking on a distant look. It’s not until he motions between the two of them that Harry gets it.

“Oh,” and Harry’s body is suddenly very hot. He can feel himself sweating, his heart beating just a bit faster than before. “I wouldn’t…I don’t wanna get technical about it all. You know?”

Niall’s fast to agree, “Yeah. No labels. I get it.”

“It just makes things-”

“Hard.”

“Yeah.”

A silence sets in between them and it’s thick and stuffy.

Niall stands awkwardly, his hands going to his pockets. Harry can only look up at him, watching him. He’s unable to move, and there’s a weird sinking feeling taking over within him.

“You’re okay with that, right?” he asks.

Niall grabs Harry’s arm and pulls him to his feet. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“What do  _you_  call this?”

“Whatever you wanna call it.”

“Friends?”

Niall shrugs.

“ _Best_  friends?”

He smiles then, his face lighting up.

“With benefits?”

“I guess that’s what people would say.”

Harry laughs, resting his forehead to Niall’s. “Who cares what other people would say.”

“Then let’s just call it an understanding.”

_An understanding_. Harry thinks that’s possibly the most accurate word to use for them. It’s always just been about understanding. Niall knows when Harry needs him, and Harry knows when Niall needs love. It’s just how it’s always been.

Spontaneity strikes and Harry grabs the collar of Niall’s jacket, pulling their mouths together. He pushes up on his toes, his chest pressing flush against Niall, and he feels it all swell inside of himself. It’s almost like he’s floating. His arms feel weightless, his body numb. It’s a type of kiss that shatters their surroundings and dulls out all of the nonsense around them. The world falls quiet.

That is until Niall shoves Harry back and traps him in a headlock. He’s shouting that he’s not a loser and that Harry should never keep his guard down, then he’s releasing him and running off. Harry has to give himself a moment to process just what the fuck is happening. Then he’s chasing after the other, yelling out hostile promises to make Niall eat his own words.

*

The first week goes by quickly enough. They spend every chance they get at the park, causing trouble and making a mess out of  _everything_. Christmas comes up and Harry isn’t surprised to find the new Assassin’s Creed game in the front seat of his car one morning. He wonders when Niall had the chance to leave it in there. It’s not like he’s ever without Harry.

He manages to find Niall a few trinkets for his present. He also gets him a new snapback. One that’s bright red with Niall’s initials sewed onto the inside. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen him smile so brightly.

It’s during the second week of their break that Harry’s entire life is ruined. He’s tucked in bed under five blankets and he’s wearing Niall’s old sweatshirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants.

“This blows,” he mumbles.

Niall’s sitting on the edge of the mattress, his hand rubbing circles into Harry’s thigh. “I told you we shouldn’t stay out after sun down.”

“Oh, sure. Yeah. Whatever.” Harry turns on his side. His head is pounding, he can’t breathe out of his nose, and he wants everything to disappear – himself included.

“It’s okay, Haz. You’ll feel better in a few days.”

“Dude, I can’t be sick. It’s our fucking  _vacation_.”

“At least you weren’t sick during the Holidays, right?”

“I’m gonna be!”

“You’ll be fine. Watch, in like, two days you’ll be feeling just fine. New Years is still a good  _three_  days away.”

“Even if I’m sick, we’re gonna party.”

Niall laughs loudly. “We never party, dude.”

“We do together.”

“Yeah, okay, okay. We’ll party.”

Harry pulls the blankets up over his head and curls up into a fetal position. His knees are snug against his chest when Niall pulls back the covers, shimmies into bed next to him, and then replaces them. His chest is pressed to Harry’s back, hands wrapping around Harry’s stomach.

“You’re gonna get sick.”

“That’s okay.”

“You should really stay away.”

Shaking his head, Niall nuzzles his nose under Harry’s ear. “I think I would have gotten it by now.”

“You never know!”

“Don’t get yourself all worked up, man.”

Harry sighs and relaxes. He feels Niall pulling softly at him, silently asking him to turn over. So he does. His nose is only inches away from Niall’s, and it’s then that he realizes just how horrible he feels. His eyes are itchy, his head is all congested, and when Niall leans into him, pressing a kiss to his slack mouth, Harry feels a tickle in his throat, warning him that he’s about to cough. He turns his head just in time, barely avoiding coughing directly into Niall’s mouth, and flails around his bed for a moment.

“Stay on your side of the bed,” Harry warns, turning back over. “If you get sick, I’m gonna punch you.”

“I’ll be fine, just come here.”

Harry lies lifeless, making it difficult for Niall to move him around. He’s trying not to laugh when Niall starts yanking at his waist, dragging Harry back into his arms. But then Niall’s fingers graze over Harry’s hip bone and it tickles like a motherfucker. He spasms, yelps, and nearly falls off the edge of the bed.

“Alright! Alright.” Niall pulls his hands away. “I won’t touch you.”

“Just watch where your fingers go.”

“What’s  _that_  supposed to mean?”

“Don’t touch my hips.”

Niall’s mouth drops open, his brows crease together, and in a mocking voice, he says, “Oh, so now there’s places I can’t touch on you!”

“Shut up.”

“I see how it is, Styles.”

Harry laughs a little deliriously and paws at Niall’s chest. “Quiet.”

“You’re lucky you’re sick.” Niall scoots closer, his voice back to normal. He’s whispering when he says, “Or else I’d be tickling you until you screamed.”

Harry’s face burns red for some reason and he hides in his blankets again.

Niall’s touch turns soft and his hands are ghosting over Harry’s sides. He curls up against him and buries his face into his hair.

“Are you hungry?” Niall asks.

“No.”

“When did you last eat?”

“Yesterday.”

He sighs, sounding annoyed. “How about medicine? When’s the last time you took some of that?”

Harry doesn’t bother to respond, since…well, since he has yet to take any meds at all.

“ _Harry_.”

“I just don’t want to go anywhere! I don’t have anything and that means I have to go to the store. I don’t wanna go.”

Niall’s up and out of the bed before Harry understands what he’s doing. He watches Niall take his keys from his desk and tuck them into his pants.

“I’ll be back,” he promises, giving a half wave, “with both food and medicine.”

“Wait, Ni.”

He stops, looks over his shoulder.

Harry lies quiet, not knowing what to say. He isn’t even sure why he told Niall to wait, but maybe it has something to do with the boy leaving him. Harry doesn’t like being alone, especially when he’s sick.

Niall kind of stares at him for a moment, then he’s walking with swift footsteps back towards the bed, this time going around to Harry’s side and crouching down so that they’re at eye level.

“I won’t take long.” He kisses Harry’s forehead, his lips warm. “Try and sleep, yeah? We need to get you better.” He finally goes, and Harry rolls onto his stomach, his head aching more than ever. He tunes out the sound of the wind and the way the glass rattles in the windows. He can hear his car start up, the sound of the engine revving as Niall wills it to warm up. Then it’s speeding off and Harry’s able to slip into some kind of half conscious sleep.

*

A couple days, fifty bowls of soup, and an entire box of Dayquil later, Harry’s down in his basement, his nose rubbed raw and his head still a little stuffed. He’s looking at a box of Mike’s Hard Lemonade that Niall has set on the coffee table.

Harry picks up one of the bottles, “What is this shit?”

“Malt liquor, or something.”

“Is it good?”

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

“How’d you get it?”

“Zayn.”

“How’d  _he_  get it?”

“I don’t know, man, just drink and be happy.”

They start off their New Year’s with Harry playing Assassin’s Creed. Niall watches, complaining when Harry doesn’t take on each mission, even when it’s not mandatory. He’s pretty much just hanging on Harry’s shoulder, telling him to  _do this, do that, talk to this guy and that guy, too_. It’s to the point where Harry wants to elbow him in the face, so he saves his game and throws in Battlefield.

It’s still early when he starts to feel a buzz from the alcohol, and he’s only drank like, three bottles. He’s not sure if he’s becoming some kind of light weight, or if it’s because it’s not just plain beer. Either way, he has to stop himself from opening a fourth because the television screen is beginning to blur and everything’s way too hilarious.

“Are we gonna watch the ball drop?” Niall asks, halfway through their second game.

Harry shakes his head. “I don’t wanna.”

“What are we gonna do, then?”

Checking the time on his phone, Harry sees that it’s a quarter to midnight and his chest tightens. There’s always some weird pressure that comes along with a new year, and the closer it gets to striking twelve, the harder his heart beats.

“We can just wait for midnight by ourselves. Can’t we?”

Niall nods, “Yeah that’s fine,” and then blows Harry’s character up.

Time flies by quickly, and it’s when Niall’s in the bathroom that it becomes five minutes to midnight. It’s another two minutes before Niall’s footsteps are heard treading around upstairs, and another minute passes by until  _finally_ he’s making his way back downstairs.

“Get the fuck over here!” Harry yells.

“What’s the rush?”

“Two minutes, dude.”

Niall snickers, adjusts the red snapback on his head, and sits on the floor, knees pressing against Harry’s knees, face-to-face.

Harry’s eyes keep going between Niall’s smile and the time on his phone. When 11:59 shows up brightly on his screen, he scoots closer to the other. Niall doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even laugh or smirk. He sits quietly, motionless. It feels like hours pass between 11:59 and midnight, but when the digits change (making Harry’s heart crawl to his throat), he leans in only to be taken aback when Niall’s mouth finds his first and kisses him roughly.

Harry feels the other’s hands on his back, can hear Niall crawling up to his knees, and before he knows what’s going on, Harry’s lying flat on his back with Niall between his legs. He feels a little squirmy, and he thinks it’s because of the alcohol, or maybe it’s because there’s pressure on certain areas of his body that aren’t used to attention.

“I’ve never had someone to kiss at midnight,” Harry mumbles against Niall’s mouth.

“Yeah? Me either.”

“It’s kind of nice.”

Niall hums in agreement.

Harry tongues at the other’s lips, bites him when Niall gives him the chance, and suddenly, Niall’s hands are raking down Harry’s sides, resting on his hips.

Pulling away, suddenly scared, Harry eyes the boy above him.

“What are we doing?” he rushes out.

“Whatever you want.”

Harry’s breath is shaken, his eyes heavy. He reaches for Niall’s hand and sighs when the other laces his fingers with his.

“Don’t be nervous,” he whispers in Harry’s ear. He mouths at his neck, leaving little bruises along his skin and biting at his jaw.

“If we’re gonna do this,” Harry chokes out, “I wanna go to the room.”

And just like that, Niall’s moving off of him and pulling him upstairs. Harry thinks he’s lucky that his parents went out with their friends, because they’re kissing all the way down the hall, their feet getting tangled and making them run into the walls on more than one occasion.

Pushing open his bedroom door, Harry collapses down on his bed, his mind reeling with a thousand questions. Surely, this wasn’t supposed to happen. He just wanted a New Year’s kiss, but hey, he won’t complain. It feels oddly right to have Niall’s hands holding his waist and his hips stuttering against him.

They continue to kiss long after Harry’s lips become numb and Niall starts to feel heavy on top of him. He cants his hips up, trying to get leverage and to also relieve some of the pressure on his back, but as he moves, Niall moves with him. And then Niall’s grinding down against him and Harry’s brain malfunctions.

Niall puts a hand between their bodies, his palm pressed to Harry’s crotch, and he starts massaging him, his movements pretty damn precise. In a matter of seconds, Harry’s reduced to some shaking, trembling puddle of his former self. His fingers claw at Niall’s shirt, his lips are slack, and when he hears the metallic sound of his zipper being pulled down, all he can think is  _pleasepleaseplease_.

“Tell me this is okay,” Niall says. He sounds weird, almost broken, and he’s breathing pretty hard for a guy who isn’t getting a rub down.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“You want this?”

Harry bites in his lips, nods. He watches Niall loosen the button on his jeans and delve his hand into the front of Harry’s pants. It feels strange when Niall wraps his hand around him, pulling him out and fisting him once. His touch is light, but his hand is rough all the same. Harry doesn’t have many experiences to compare to this one, but as Niall works his wrist and forms a rhythm, he’s fairly certain that this is the best handjob he’s ever gotten.

First off, Niall’s hand is so fucking  _big_ _,_ he’s able to enclose Harry completely without much effort, and he’s stroking so slowly, his fist tightening around the head, that it’s so obvious that the guy knows what he’s doing. Hell, he should. He has his own cock that Harry knows he fucks on a regular basis.

“Does it feel good?”

Harry’s too lost in his thoughts to respond. He’s aware that he’s probably leaving bruises on Niall’s back, and his teeth are bared, but he can’t bring himself to care. He begins to thrust his hips up, matching the motions of Niall’s hand. The faster he bucks, the faster Niall goes and soon, Harry’s eyes are screwing shut and his breathing is rapid. His fingers keep twitching and his legs are shaking. He presses his mouth to Niall’s, teeth coming out and biting the other’s lip, hard. Niall groans out, which only makes the tightening in Harry’s abdomen get worse. His toes curl and his hands form into fists. He throws his head back, Niall’s mouth clamping onto his neck in record timing, and just as Niall’s teeth sink into his skin, Harry cries out.

His dick gets wet, Niall’s hand slows to a stop, and Harry’s still thrusting up as he comes. Niall’s touch leaves him all too soon and he wants to whine about it, but then he’s watching Niall hastily work his own jeans down his legs, his hand – wet with Harry’s come – grabs a hold of himself and he’s jerking himself off, the head of his cock pressed to Harry’s stomach.

He comes quickly, biting into Harry’s shoulder and sobbing out his name. Harry wraps his arms around Niall’s middle when he starts to shake and pets at the back of his head, trying to calm him.

They don’t say much to each other afterward. Harry grabs a towel and cleans up what he can, and Niall changes into a pair of sweats that Harry stopped wearing back in the 10th grade. They don’t bother going back to the basement, but instead curl up next to each other in bed. Niall flips on the TV and changes it to some movie channel playing a weird Rom-Com. Harry doesn’t know when Niall goes to sleep, but what he  _does_  know is that he passes out with his head resting on Niall’s chest and the low sound of the other's humming lulling him to sleep.

*

It’s the end of their first week back from break and Harry’s lying behind one of the bookshelves in the library. Niall’s at his side, a text book open in his lap. He’s doing some kind of research for his Physics class, or so Harry assumes anyway since the guy has a Physics book open.

Harry has an arm slung over his face, his nose resting in the crook of his elbow, and he’s listening to the sound of Niall turning pages, his eyes beginning to itch with exhaustion. He’s half asleep when Niall asks him,

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” His voice is low, almost strange.

Peeking out from under his arm, Harry says, “Nothing.”

“Wanna catch a movie?”

“Sure.” He sits up, adjusting his shirt and shaking out his hair. “What movies are out?”

Niall shrugs. For whatever reason, he can’t seem to take his eyes off of his book. “I’ll figure out what’s playing tonight.”

“You know what we should do? Let’s see what Zayn and Louis are doing tomorrow night. I bet they’d wanna go. Sometimes, man, I swear that Liam’s our only friend now.” Harry snorts out a laugh, rubs at his eyes. Niall doesn’t join in, though. He’s not even smiling.

“Something wrong?” he asks, scooting closer to the other. He plucks a small ball of lint off of Niall’s shirt and rests his cheek to his shoulder. “Hey.”

Niall shakes his head, his eyes looking unseeingly at his book. He takes off his hat, rubs at his hair, and replaces it. “I guess I’d just rather it be us.”

“Us alone?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re always alone. Don’t you get tired of that?”

Niall looks to him then, his face contorting, his eyes going dull. “What, you  _do_?”

Harry moves back, startled by the look the other gives him. He’s stumbling over his words as he tries to explain, “No. I only…I mean that maybe – I don’t,” he sighs, heavily. “I just thought maybe you get…I don’t want you to get tired of just hanging out with me. Maybe throwing a couple people into the mix will make it more…lively?”

Niall’s face is blank.

“Or not! Or not.”

“No, that’s fine,” Niall looks back to his book. “I’ll ask Zayn after school.”

“Wait, no. I take it back.”

“Haz, it’s cool.”

“Nah, you’re right.”

Niall gives him a look. “Right about what? I didn’t even say anything.”

“Well, I guess…I don’t know. But, yeah maybe it’s better for it to just be us, right? I mean, with Zayn and Louis it’d be like…”

“A double date.”

Harry nods. He watches Niall go back to reading and it’s when he hears the other laugh softly under his breath that Harry realizes he just referred to their outing as a date. Which is probably the dumbest thing he could do, because no. He and Niall don’t go on  _dates_. They just don’t do that kind of shit.

Of course, Harry spends the rest of his night haunted by what he said and he can’t sleep worth a damn. He feels both stupid and embarrassed. Then there’s the everlasting question of why Niall didn’t correct him or tell him that he’s wrong.

*

The movie starts at six, so Harry makes his way to Niall’s at five, wearing his usual jeans and t-shirt. He’s slightly taken aback by how nicely dressed Niall is when he sees him. He’s sporting a short sleeved button-up with a pair of jeans that must be new, or just never worn.

“Lookin’ good,” Harry jokes, uneasily. He gives Niall’s shoulder a small punch before they climb into his car and head for the theater.

The first thing that sets Harry off into a downward spiral of confusion is the way Niall walks with him. He has his hand on the small of Harry’s back, which is totally normal for them, but his thumb keeps drawing circles against him, and on more than one occasion he pulls Harry into him in a kind of half hug that’s really more of Niall holding Harry and Harry trying to wiggle away.

Then comes the time to buy the tickets. Or more like the time for  _Niall_  to buy the tickets, since he rushes to shove the money at the girl behind the glass before Harry can even pull his wallet out.

Harry tells him, “You don’t gotta do that, man.”

Niall only shrugs, smiles, and hands Harry his ticket.

The movie is some kind of crime thriller. It’s about a dude who gets in bad with the head of a drug cartel, and of course there’s a love interest between the main character and the drug guy’s woman. It’s all very Scarface until the ending scene, which ends happily enough. But Harry isn’t really paying attention anymore. He’s more concerned with Niall’s arm, wrapped around his shoulders, his hand playing with the collar of Harry’s shirt.

He’s able to ignore all of this without much problem. Except when they’re heading for Harry’s car twenty minutes later, Niall links his fingers with Harry’s. It takes him a second to process that Niall’s holding his hand, but when it hits, it hits hard.

“Dude.” Harry pulls his hand away, shoves it in his pocket.

Niall’s face does this thing where it kind of looks like he’s offended, but then he’s laughing it off and putting his own hands in his pockets.

“Sorry, man.”

The ride back is awkward to say the least. Or maybe Harry’s making it awkward, he can’t tell. Niall tries to talk about some of the fight scenes and the types of guns they were shooting, but Harry won’t talk back. He physically can’t. It’s like his voice is gone, and his mind is whirling around a million thoughts at once. He’s sure he’s gonna have a heart attack for no real reason.

*

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” Harry asks once they’ve reached Niall’s house.

“Yeah. What time?”

“Whenever.”

Silence sets in. Turning to the other, Harry isn’t sure what to do, but he leans over and gives Niall a hug. Niall, obviously surprised, fumbles and fidgets until he’s got an arm around Harry’s shoulders and is holding him close.

“I’ll uh,” Harry clears his throat, “text you.”

“Sure.”

Then Niall’s leaving, and Harry can finally breathe again.

*

It’s two weeks later that Harry finds himself in bed with Niall between his legs. He’s doing this thing with his tongue that makes Harry’s brain melt. He’s arching up, gasping out Niall’s name and trying his damnedest to not be too loud. When he comes, Niall’s mouth is latched onto his own, biting at his bottom lip, and his hand is jacking Harry off with fervor, small groans and gasps slipping past his lips and into Harry’s mouth.

Afterward, Niall curls himself into Harry’s side, his lips pressed to his neck.

“Can I ask you something?”

Harry tries not to tense, but it happens all the same.

“Sure.”

Keeping his face in Harry’s neck, Niall whispers, “What are we?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“No.”

“What  _are_  we?”

He nods.

“Last I checked we were a couple of guys.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what?”

“Us. Together. What are we together?”

Harry’s heart hammers against his ribcage. “Oh,” he clears his throat. “We’re nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Well, I mean, we’re friends. We already talked about this, Ni.”

“Yeah, I know. But, I’m not…okay with that.”

Sitting up suddenly, Harry reaches for his jeans and pulls them on. He’s avoiding Niall’s gaze, avoiding his question.

“You know, Haz, what we’re doing isn’t completely normal.”

“So, now we’re what?  _Ab_ normal?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Niall sits on the edge of the bed, his elbows leaning on his knees, his head down.

“Friends with benefits is what we are,” he continues. “Regardless of what you wanna believe. That’s the right term for it and I get it. You don’t want labels -”

“It’s not just me! You agreed about it.”

“No, I went with it. There’s a difference.”

“Why would you -” Harry groans with frustration, his hands going to his hair. “Why would you just  _go with it_ , man? You’re supposed to be able to talk to me about that shit.”

“Well, I’m talking now.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I just want to know what we are. If you really think that we’re nothing or just friends or  _whatever_ , okay. I can live with that. But, if that’s the case,” Niall tries to touch Harry’s arm, but Harry pulls away, angry. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“Alright. No more fucking. That’s not a big deal.”

Niall stares blankly at him, his mouth pulled down in a frown. He blinks a few times, his eyes going a little red. Harry feels like a complete asshole, but what else is he supposed to say? They can’t fuck it up now.

“You know what I mean,” Harry whispers.

“I wouldn’t call it fucking.” There’s a pause. “I also wouldn’t call us just friends.”

“Anything else would just complicate it.”

“Is that your problem? You think giving it a title will complicate it?”

Harry shrugs, ducking his head down and tilting his body away.

“Hate to break it to you, man, but just because you don’t wanna give it a name, doesn’t make it any different. Hell, you can call a dog a cat but that’s doesn’t make it so. Do you get it?”

“No.”

“Stop being hard headed.”

“I don’t know what you want.”

“I wanna be able to take you out and not have it be awkward.”

Ah, so Harry wasn’t imagining it.

Crossing his arms over his chest and doubling over, Harry puts his forehead to his knees.

“Don’t,” he starts, his voice weak, “don’t do this, okay? Don’t make it difficult.”

“I’m not. I just need to know what’s going on. What is going through your head?”

“Nothing.” He sits up. “Everything. I can’t even say it all.”

“Look, dude. It’s cool. You wanna go back to how we were, fine. But -”

“I don’t wanna do that.”

“Then I want to make it official.”

“Why do you gotta do that, huh? What happened to all that soul mate shit we were talking about? You even said that it’s possible to have a person who you can be perfectly happy with with _out_  having a relationship.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean someone you kiss and hug and hold and spend nights with. I meant a friend. You’re my best friend, yeah, but what we’re doing isn’t just a friend thing anymore. And it’s either you’re my boyfriend or you’re not. I can’t have this in between shit.”

“And why not?”

“ _Because_.”

Harry yells, “That’s not even a fucking answer!”

He watches the way Niall recoils from him, his eyes hard.

“Did you ever put it into consideration that  _maybe_ , just  _maybe_ feelings would develop or some shit? Did you ever think that I could legitimately love you?”

Harry scrunches up his nose, buries his face in his hands. “I know you love me.”

“No, you don’t. It’s not love like, yeah okay, cool. It’s the kind that hurts. It hurts to be around you and it hurts to be without you. It’s a fucking mess and I can’t deal with it. When I see you, I wanna hold you and I wanna tell you all this shit, but I don’t wanna have to be afraid that you’re going to pull away just because you don’t want anyone to know.”

“It’s not about people knowing!”

“Then what  _is_  it?”

“I told you!  _I don’t know_!”

Niall jumps to his feet, his voice loud when he says, “Then figure it out!”

“I don’t want this anymore!” Harry wants to take the words back the second they leave his mouth, but it’s impossible. If being with Niall means fighting with Niall, then why would Harry want that? He’s never even raised his voice before, but now?

Niall pulls away, looking hurt. His hands go into his jacket pockets and he’s staring at the ground.

“Okay,” he says, calmly.

“Wait.”

Niall grabs his red snapback off of Harry’s bed and puts it on, his fingers shaking.

“Just give me some time, okay?” he says, squeezing Harry’s arm as he walks towards his bedroom door. “Just a little bit of time.”

“What for?”

“I can’t turn these feelings off overnight. You know?”

“You don’t have to leave.”

“I know.” He opens the door, grabs his jacket that’s thrown carelessly over the television, then he’s making his way down the hall.

Harry calls out, “How are you gonna get home? I can take you!”

“I’m only two blocks away. I’m good.”

And he leaves.

Harry sinks down onto his bed, his body feeling overheated. He’s sweating and his cheeks are burning. He isn’t sure if he’s embarrassed or just plain broken. It feels like he was just punched in the gut and his head keeps screaming,  _why did you lie? You know you want him._

Of course, he thinks. Why wouldn’t he want Niall?

_Why not_?

That’s a question even he can’t answer.

*

Days turn to weeks all too quickly. Harry’s had enough time to finish both his Battlefield  _and_  his Assassin’s Creed games. He’s thinking about playing AC again just for the hell of it when his mom treads down the basement stairs and tells him he has a guest.

“Who is it?” he asks, jumping to his feet. His heart instantly picks up, his palms getting sweaty. It’s been almost two weeks since he’s heard from Niall and seriously, that dude has  _got_  to have had enough time by now.

“It’s Louis.”

Harry’s heart falls to his stomach.

“ _Louis_?” He doesn’t mean to sound so disgusted, but hey. What’s a let down dude gonna do?

“Well, shit,” Louis says from the top of the stairs. “I’ll just go then.” But he doesn’t. He makes his way down and takes a seat on the sofa. “What’s got you all worked up?”

“I’m not worked up.”

“You’re living in your basement.” He picks up one of the many empty bags of chips. “When did you last shower?”

Harry makes a face and pauses his game. He crawls towards the couch, sitting with his back against the footrest.

“Yesterday. Thanks for asking.”

“If I didn’t know better I would say Niall’s been down here making this mess. But you two aren’t talking, are you?”

Startled, Harry asks, “How do you know that?”

“I’m not dumb. You’re never with him at school.”

“Is that why you’re here? To get answers?”

“Partially.”

“Dude.”

“What’s going on?”

“ _Nothing_.”

“You know, when I asked Niall, he said the same thing. You guys are pretty good with the whole two-peas-one-pod thing.”

Harry scoffs, brings his knees to his chest. “What did he tell you?”

“Literally nothing.” Louis climb down from the couch and sits shoulder-to-shoulder with Harry. He leans his head against him and says, “I’m kind of worried.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“Right. Except when I get late night phone calls from Liam telling me that you aren’t talking and Niall refuses to hang out, I think I have a reason to be worried.” He picks at Harry’s shirt, pulling at the threads. “You’re never without him.”

“Yeah, well. Now I am. It’s fine.”

“It’s not, though. If you two are fighting, then I think I’m going to lose hope in humanity.”

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Then you can tell me, can’t you?”

A lump forms in Harry’s throat, one that tells him if he doesn’t speak now, then he’s going to explode. But just how does a guy tell his friend that he’s in love with his best friend, but he’s afraid of said best friend at the same time. For no reason. He can’t forget that little tidbit.  _For no reason at all_.

“Har-”

“We kissed.”

Well, no point in beating around the bush.

Louis’s face goes blank.

“Well, we did more than just kiss.”

“You guys…wait- what?”

“Yeah.”

“You had sex?”

“What?  _No_. Not…actual sex anyway.”

“Hold on.” He puts a hand to his chest, a nervous smile making its way across his lips. “You guys had not-sex? And you’re just now telling me? How long ago?”

“It wasn’t just a one time thing.”

Now Louis’s laughing, and it’s so forced and awkward that Harry’s afraid the dude’s gonna pass out.

“You’re dating?”

Harry’s stomach flips. “No.”

“You’re  _not_  dating and you’re having  _not_ -sex and now you’re  _not_  talking. Well, okay. I see the problem now.”

“You do?”

Louis arches an eyebrow, sighs. “Why aren’t you dating?”

“That’s a great question with an outrageously long answer.”

“Start from the beginning.”

Harry explains to him how it all started (“ _it was only a kiss”_ ) and how it managed to escalate from a completely platonic friendship into some kind of dating (“ _but not really dating_ ”) relationship. He tells him about New Years and about how sometimes, it feels like his heart’s gonna beat out of his chest when Niall does little things like call him babe instead of dude. And then he may or may not go into extreme detail about the first time Niall shoved Harry into bed and -

“Yeah, okay,” Louis says quickly. “I get it. Fun times, woo.”

“Yeah, fun until Niall brought up…actually going steady.”

“You are aware that Niall doesn’t just think of it as a label, right?”

“I was starting to figure.”

“He wants you to be his.”

“I know.”

“And you don’t wanna be his?”

“I do,” Harry throws his head back and purposely hits the couch. He groans, frustrated. “It’s just a lot to handle. If something were to happen between us and it gets all fucked up, then how are we supposed to fix that?”

Slipping his arm around Harry’s shoulders, Louis whispers, “I know why you’re scared, but I also know you and Niall have this kind of bond that I’ve literally _never_  seen before. It’s like, you’re two halves of a whole-”

(Harry hears Niall’s voice in his head, “ _I always feel whole when you’re with me._ ”)

“Besides, when has anything ever come between the two of you?”

Harry shrugs. “This is a lot different, though.”

“People break up and make up every day. Even if something were to happen with you guys, I highly doubt he’d just up and leave you. Niall isn’t Niall when you’re not around, and the same goes for you. It’s like looking at someone who’s physically broken.”

“I look broken?”

He nods. “And I know you are. You shouldn’t be afraid of what’s  _going to_ happen, because you don’t  _know_  what’s gonna happen. You should just take it as it comes.”

Harry deadpans, “Well, aren’t  _you_  just a ray of sunshine.”

“I’ve learned my lesson, dude.”

Harry smiles, thinks about Zayn. “How’re you two doing anyway?”

“We’re good.”

“Still in love?”

Louis smiles small, “Completely.”

“That’s…good. Happy for you.”

“You could be happy for yourself if you’d stop worrying about the little things. I think the worst part of this is that you’re thinking so far ahead in the future, that you’re not allowing yourself a chance to get there. I mean, half the fun of love is falling into it. Right? How can you do that when you won’t let the dude call you his boyfriend?”

“90% of relationships fail.”

“Those are bad statistics.”

“Okay, maybe not 90%, but a whole fucking lot.”

“And what about those that don’t fail? Do you think those people were like  _oh shit, can’t date because I don’t wanna end up being hurt_?”

Harry stays quiet.

“If you’re into the guy, then you’re into him. If you’re not, then you’re not. But in your case, you so totally are and he’s probably sitting in his room right now feeling just as shitty as you.”

“Doubt that.”

“Doubt it all you want, but we both know I’m right. He doesn’t go  _anywhere_ without you. I mean, fuck, you two wouldn’t even go to the fucking bathroom alone back when we started high school.”

“It was a big campus, Louis. I didn’t wanna get lost alone.”

“You wanted to get lost with him?”

Harry gives a silent nod, his throat swelling shut. “Fuck.”

“Do you see what I’m talking about now?”

Grabbing the front of Louis’s shirt, Harry pulls him in and clings. It’s probably the worst excuse for a hug Harry’s ever had since usually when you hug someone, they’re holding you back. Louis’s kind of smashed into the couch, his arms pinned at his sides, and he’s breathing all weird, as if Harry’s squishing the life out of him. But it’s okay. At least that’s what Harry tells himself.

He releases Louis and smiles sheepishly, tears forming in his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Are you gonna go talk to him?”

“What, right now?”

“No. Next year.”

“Shut it.”

Louis hides a smile behind his hand.

Harry gets to his feet, decides he better change before he goes anywhere in his dirty, scummy shirt. But before all that, he walks Louis out and tells him he’ll give him a call later in the week to explain everything that happens.

“How’d you get here, by the way?” Harry asks at the front door.

Louis reaches into his pocket and produces a key ring. “Borrowed Zayn’s Pontiac.”

“Dude. You don’t even have a license.”

“Yeah, well. I walk on the wild side.”

Harry gives him a glance.

Louis rolls his eyes. “He’s teaching me how to drive. It’s fine.”

“Where’s he at?”

“Work.”

“He works now?”

Louis scoffs, “Where have you  _been_?”

“ _Me_? You! I haven’t seen you in weeks. You’re always off with your charming boyfriend, living a charming life. You guys fucking share a car now. What, do you pick him up from work, too?”

Louis hangs his head, his face tinting with color. “Is something wrong with that?” He laughs out.

“Nah, man. It’s kind of like, domestic, though, huh? That’s cool.”

“You make it sound all fucking strange.”

“No, I don’t!” He nudges Louis’ side and peeks outside at Zayn’s car, which blocking the driveway. “It’s kind of cute, you know?”

“Shut up.”

Harry laughs to himself, ruffles Louis’s hair (gets hit for it), and watches him leave before retreating to his room.

*

Harry makes it to Niall’s house and is a bit surprised when it’s Niall’s mom who answers the door. She’s wearing a pair of pajamas, which tells Harry’s it’s a bit late to be bothering his friends’ parents.

“Hi, Harry,” she says, a little unamused.

“Hey!” He smiles brightly. “Niall in?”

“He’s out right now, but he should be back any minute. Wanna come in?”

“He’s  _out_?”

She eyes him, smiling. “Yes. Out.”

“He goes out?”

Then she’s laughing, and Harry isn’t sure if he should laugh too.

“I was as surprised as you are. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him leave this house with anyone but you, but his father set him up on a date tonight so -”

Harry stops listening. He’s too busy trying to swallow his heart, which has decided to crawl to his throat.

_Did she say -_

“Date?” he asks, weakly, cutting her off. He’s vaguely aware of the look she gives him, but he’s far too disinterested to apologize. He turns on his heels, the wind blowing heavily as he makes his way over Niall’s front lawn. Digging in his pockets for his keys, he wills the tears in his eyes to stop.

“Wait, Harry!”

He turns around and finds her pointing towards a car making its way down the road.

“There he is.”

Scared, Harry watches the car pull into the drive, and then he’s crawling in behind the wheel, not caring about the snow on his boots, or the way his hands are beginning to hurt due to the cold. He mindlessly thinks he should have worn gloves, but then he’s shoving his key into the ignition and turning the engine over. Glancing towards the house, he sees that Niall’s mom isn’t in the doorway anymore. He then looks back at the car and sees Niall getting out.

He mumbles out, “fuck,” and thumbs the gear shift.

He’s in the process of putting the car into drive when suddenly the tears start to flow and there’s no stopping them.  _Date_ , he thinks,  _she said a fucking date_. If Niall went on a date, then surely he’s had enough time away from Harry to figure out that yeah, any kind of relationship is too difficult to sort through and too high of a risk for them to indulge in. But that doesn’t stop the hurt he feels, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s cradling his face in his hands and sobbing hard enough that he’s certain he can be heard over the sound of the wind.

It shouldn’t hurt this bad, he tells himself. There’s no reason for it to hurt this bad. Except his heart keeps chanting,  _you did this, you pushed him away_ _,_ and he knows it’s true.

Wiping his nose on the sleeve of his jacket, Harry reaches for the stick shift again, hoping Niall’s still saying goodnight to whoever he’s with, but as he steps on the brakes, there’s a small tap on his window that makes him yelp.

He looks over, and of course –  _of fucking course_  – Niall is standing outside of his car with his jacket pulled up to cover half of his face.

“Harry?” He calls out, muffled by the glass between them. “What are you doing?”

That’s when Harry hits the gas and speeds off, trying to not look in his rearview.

*

He gets home, runs to his room, and flings himself onto his bed, ignoring the snow that falls from his clothes and onto his blankets. He’s still crying, but he’s got it down to a minimum. Constantly telling himself to breathe, he rolls onto his back and stares blankly up at the ceiling.

Niall went on a date.

Niall took someone on a date.

Niall could have possibly kissed said date.

Harry feels like shit.

Hugging his knees against himself, Harry screws his eyes shut and feels a chill run through him. His mind starts spewing out a dozen different images. First, it’s Niall in the basement, then it’s Niall kissing him, and finally it’s Niall touching him, Niall doing things Harry would never let anyone else do, and suddenly Harry’s sick to his stomach.

He manages to slip off into a kind of half slumber, filled with nothing but bad thoughts and worse dreams.

He doesn’t know how long he’s out for, or how late it is when he hears the doorbell ring. Rubbing at his eyes and cursing to himself, he climbs out of bed. His head feels light, his throat is raw, and he wants to crawl under a rock.

Knowing there can really only be one person on the other side of the door, Harry leans against the hallway wall, giving himself a minute. The doorbell goes off again, this time twice in a row. Rolling his eyes because Niall’s never fucking patient, he makes his way to the front of the house.

“What?” he calls through the door.

“Dude, open up.”

“Why don’t you go back to your  _date_.”

“Seriously?”

Feeling slightly ridiculous, Harry presses his forehead to the door frame and sighs.

“It’s not what you think,” Niall explains. He sounds so close that Harry has to open his eyes and check to see if somehow the door was miraculously opened. “It wasn’t a date.”

“Your mom said it was a date.”

“It wasn’t. Even if it was, dude, why does it matter?”

“Don’t play that fucking card with me, Niall.”

There’s a pause. Then, “Open the door. Please.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Do you hear yourself right now?”

“Of course I do.”

“Harry, please.”

There’s a tug on his heart strings and guilt bubbling in his gut. So Harry opens the door, a little reluctantly, and peeks out into the night.

“ _What?_ ” he asks, again.

“Are you gonna let me explain?” Niall’s wearing his snapback, the bill covered with snow. His nose is red, his cheeks are flushed, and normally, Harry would be shoving him under some blankets for fear of him getting a cold. But instead, he stands stubbornly in the doorway and says,

“No.”

“Stop being this way.”

Harry hears his mother call from her room, “Who is it?”

He calls back, “Niall!”

“Shut the door! I can feel the draft in here!”

He pushes Niall farther away from the door and goes outside, forgetting that he doesn’t have his shoes on. His socks are soaked instantly, but he doesn’t have the time to care.

Niall says, “It wasn’t even a date, okay? It was more of a  _do this for your father_ type thing. She’s his bosses daughter and she wanted to get dinner-” he stops, makes a face. “You know what? No. That’s not even important.”

“Oh, it’s not?” Harry crosses his arms over his chest, his voice cold.

“No. Why do you even care? You’re the one who was all for us going back to normal. Normally, I think I’m allowed to go on dates. Am I right? You’re the one who had that girlfriend from the college here a couple months ago.”

“I broke up with her three fucking months ago, what is your deal?”

“Just explain to me why you can date and I can’t.”

“No. You explain to me why you haven’t called me back or texted me or,” his voice starts to break, “even looked at me in weeks! Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to have random fucking people come up to me and ask where you are?”

“Yeah, I do,” Niall’s eyes narrow, his voice hard. “You’re not the only one who’s been alone all this time.”

“If you’re alone and I’m alone, then why aren’t we being alone together, huh? Why does it have to be us separately?”

“Because! I need to be alone by my fucking self, okay? It’s not a good feeling having to leave you, but it’s a worse feeling having to look at you when all I wanna do is  _be with you_.”

“So you take someone else out?”

“Harry.”

He shoves at Niall’s shoulders, pushing him off of the porch and onto the lawn. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be!”

“Then tell me how _it’s supposed to be_!”

“You’re supposed to be mine!”

Niall pulls back, his brow furrowing.

“And I’m supposed to be yours,” Harry’s crying too hard to form coherent words. It’s all just a bunch of mumbling and shoving at Niall’s chest. “You weren’t supposed to go fuck it up with someone else.”

“You’re the one who wanted things to go back to how they used to be,” Niall says, softly. He’s trying to get his arms around Harry’s shoulders, but Harry’s not letting him. “C’mon, stop. Don’t-don’t do that. Don’t cry, come here.”

Harry chokes out, “I take it back,” his hands still trying to push Niall away. His feet are freezing, the bottom of his jeans are soaking wet, and it feels like daggers are hitting him all over. “I don’t wanna -”

“Jesus, man.” Niall suddenly grabs Harry, knocking his hands out of the way. Then he’s pulling Harry to the front porch, all but carrying him up the steps. “Where are your fucking shoes?”

“Don’t make this about my shoes.”

“Go.”

Harry lets Niall push and shove him into the house, and is probably a lot more grateful than Niall realizes when he shuts the front door and forces Harry to head down the hall and into his room. His teeth are chattering, and the tears on his face are drying at a rapid pace.

“What the hell are you doing going out there without shoes on?” Niall’s taking off Harry’s socks, cursing as he tosses them aside. “You were  _just_  sick.”

“I w-wasn’t just sick.”

“You’re trembling.” Niall gives him a disappointed look, shaking his head.

“What do you ca-care?”

“Don’t give me that. Look at yourself-” he sighs heavily, “get under the covers.”

Harry does so without a fight, and he’s not surprised when Niall sheds off his coat and joins him. He’s still shivering, even with Niall’s arms around him, but he already feels better. It’s crazy, he thinks, how a small touch can make everything okay.

Niall asks, “Now, what were you saying?”

“Nothing.”

“ _Harry_.”

“I just…I take it back. All of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t wanna be how we used to be.”

“Then what do you want?”

“You.”

“Only me?”

“Only you.”

“What changed your mind?”

Harry shrugs, clinging closer. “I’m not happy without you,” he mumbles. “And also, giving me the cold shoulder kind of ruined my fucking life, so don’t do that again.”

“It wasn’t the cold shoulder.”

“You were ignoring me.”

“I just needed the time.”

“For what?”

“Well, for nothing now.”

“Did you kiss her?”

Niall snorts out a laugh. “No fuckin’ way.”

“Did you hold her hand?”

“I didn’t even pay for her dinner.”

Harry smiles softly and maybe a little forcefully. The thrum of Niall’s heartbeat in his ear is enough to make his eyes heavy, sending him back into the sleep that Niall had disturbed, only this time it’s an okay sleep. One that doesn’t hurt.

“You know,” he hears Niall say, “you’ll always be my best friend. No matter what happens.”

Harry wants to respond, but his mouth isn’t really working. He settles for nudging his face into Niall’s chest, humming softly under his breath.

“The whole time,” Niall continues, “I was thinking about you. Not just tonight, no. But, I mean…every day. I’d see you, yeah, in class, and it fucking hurt. Then Louis kept asking me about shit.”

Harry chokes back a laugh.

“It was torture, man.” His arms wrap tighter around Harry’s middle. “Don’t do that anymore, alright?”

“Don’t do what?”

“Run away because you’re…”

“Scared?”

Niall huffs out a breath, his face burrowing into Harry’s curls. “Just don’t run from me.”

With his mouth pressed to the front of Niall’s shirt, Harry says, muffled, “I won’t. Promise.”

*

It’s three weeks later when Niall asks Harry,

“Are you sure about this?”

Harry smirks. He’s sitting in the middle of Niall’s bed in nothing but his boxer briefs. He has his hands clasped tightly in his lap, and he’s nodding.

“I’m sure.”

“Positive?”

He sighs. “ _Yes_. Just come here.”

Niall’s practically tiptoeing his way to the bed. He’s got on a pair of sweats, but that’s about it.

When he climbs onto the mattress, his breathing loud and shaken, he reaches a hand out and places it gingerly on Harry’s thigh, willing his legs to open.

Harry, who’s been nearly counting down to this day, feels his body hum, his eyes slipping shut. He tries to savor the weight of Niall’s touch. Spreading his legs apart, he gives the other enough room to slip between them, and when he does, Harry has to stop himself from ravaging him.

Niall licks his lips and leans in. When he kisses him, Harry feels himself go weightless. Technically, there’s absolutely nothing different about the way Niall kisses him, but there’s a feeling beneath it all that wasn’t there just a month ago, and now when Harry thinks about Niall touching him, sinking into him and making Harry feel  _good_ , it takes more than just self control to keep himself calm.

Niall has a hand on the waistband of his sweats, the other inching up to Harry’s hip. Harry feels his fingers curl into the elastic of his briefs, his stomach tightening with anticipation.

“Say it,” Niall whispers, his mouth pressed motionless to Harry’s.

Embarrassed, Harry tips his chin to his chest. His breath hitches when he sees how hard Niall’s cock is, tenting the front of his sweats and leaving a small wet spot near his thigh.

Tearing his attention from the other’s body, Harry looks Niall in the eye, his face burning with a blush and says, “I love you.”

Niall bites in his bottom lip, his eyes searching Harry’s. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“Real love?”

“Real.”

“And I love  _you_.”

“Are we having a moment?”

Niall rolls his eyes, pushes at Harry’s chest, and leans back in, his mouth working to his jaw.

Their first time is nothing short of awkward. Harry’s thighs keep cramping up, Niall can’t get a rhythm started that works for the both of them, and then, of course, there’s the question of how much lube is too much lube? Which is answered fairly quickly. But even though it’s not exactly as perfect as Harry (and he’s sure Niall, too) had expected it, he doesn’t think there’s a single other moment in his life that can stand up to it.

*

Harry’s sitting on the bleachers at lunch, watching Niall toss the football with Zayn and Liam. Louis’s at his side, picking at a sandwich he got from the cafeteria.

“Why aren’t you down there with them?” Louis asks, taking a bite.

“Not really feeling it today.”

“You doing okay?”

“Yeah.” Harry leans his head back, closing his eyes and taking in the feel of the early spring sun. It’s still chilly enough out to wear a sweater, but his is currently thrown aside on the field since Niall decided to wear it today.

“You and Niall doing good?”

Harry nods, and asks, “Do you believe in soul mates?”

Louis gasps, inhaling his food and coughing almost violently. Harry has to pat his back hard enough to leave bruises for the guy to stop choking.

“Soul mates?” he repeats.

“Yeah, soul mates.”

“I don’t really know what a soul mate is.”

“Someone who makes you whole.”

Louis seems to be thinking it over. He reaches for his bottled water, takes a drink. “If it’s someone who makes you whole, then is it possible to have more than just one?”

“I think so. I mean, there’s not some kind of soul mate rule book.”

“Well, then, yeah, I guess so.” He smiles smug. “Why? Do  _you_.”

Harry says, “Yeah, of course,” smiling up at the sky. “It’s pretty cool to think that there’s someone out there made specifically for you.”

“Do you think you’ve found one of your soul mates?”

Facing his attention to the field, Harry sees Niall leap up, and grab a pass out of the air. He throws the ball to the ground, shouting out his victory whilst both Liam and Zayn are flipping him off, yelling things at him. Harry can only smile.

“Yeah,” he whispers, “I have.”

And it feels so good, he thinks to himself, to be so complete.


End file.
